


Knock on wood.

by rayfelle



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demons, M/M, Priests, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:00:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryoma chants a prayer to the Gods, to the demons and to the people outside of the heavy wooden doors – please be saved. Two blue, blue eyes looked at him from somewhere in the middle of the fire. A God? No. A demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knock on wood.

The priest’s white robes are itchy against his skin, uncomfortable and stiff. But this was Ryoma’s duty, his only reason for being born into this world.

With a heavy heart he slowly walks the uneven earth road towards the temple. His frail fingers hold tightly, desperately, to a large container made of copper, the sun making it shine in his hands and reflect the faith that the people put in it. Holy water, they say. Protection from evil shadows that lurk at night.

He is a child born for the sake of protection, a child born from sins and then given away to repent for his parents. Ryoma only has his name and the copper container that held his life and his soul. He owns nothing, he breathes nothing.

He is nothing.

…

The drums make a soft sound that seems like mere whispers once the door behind him closes, cutting off his escape and the poor and sinful world. He is alone in the temple, alone with the container that will soon be empty of both the holy water and the blood that flows through his veins.

Still Ryoma chants. Sings the song that makes his voice sound raspy and scratches along his throat with long and sharp nails. He was a priest, a child that was to be sacrificed for the good of the rest. A cursed child, a child with no future. A human that had nothing but his name and the soul in his bones.

He places the container on the fire, takes off the lid and dips his fingers into the cold, cold water. Golden eyes are hidden behind eyelids and a white cloth that he wore on his head and Ryoma chants a prayer to the Gods, to the demons and to the people outside of the heavy wooden doors – _please be saved._

Red fire danced around the container, taking over the whole temple and enveloping Ryoma in a cold that seemed to freeze him from the inside out. Two blue, blue eyes looked at him from somewhere in the middle of the fire.

A God?

No. A demon.

…

“A human. So weak, so frail. _Dirty._ ” The demon sighed, his blue eyes so clear, like the dark ocean in the middle of a night. He seemed so much like a king, like a predator meant to rule. Cold fingers slid down Ryoma’s cheek, leaving trails of crimson red in their path, “Why did they give me something as _dirty a_ s you? Pathetic.”

Ryoma tried to breathe, he did. But his lungs were heavy, barely moving up and down. Air was poison. “Sacrifice… sin of my… mother.. I don’t know.” He breathed out the last of the air that was clean and closed his eyes.

Death was not something he wanted to see again.

The demon seemed to think over his words, expression of mild interest towards the living and the traditions that meant nothing on his face. It had been years since he had last appeared here, breathed the air of this tainted place that separated hell and heaven. “So that has yet to change in this world. I’m not surprised. Humans, after all.”

However, as the demon looked down on the human lying in his own blood, reflecting the fire and foreign against the human’s white robes, a small smirk tugged on his lips and crouched down, long fingers lifting a lock of hair away from hidden golden eyes.

“Make a contract with me, unworthy one.”

…

The black ink on his skin looks like it has been burned on. It hurts and itches and burns his hand. The demon had said that a contract was a way to bind souls, a way to forcefully make destinies entwine and become one. Forever was a long time, so the creature from hell has used ‘for a while’ while talking about the length of this deed they have sighed with blood.

Ryoma looked up at the blue, blue sky and the bright sky. There was a creature in him, stubborn and ugly that cheered every time the people of his village shrunk away in fear from him. A creature made of sin contracted another one like that – a stronger, more fearsome creature that thought of death as a means of entertainment.

His soul in exchange of a few days without the container. A small price to pay.

“Ryoma, what are you thinking of?” a voice of smooth velvet spoke from beside him. Keigo, or so the name engraved on Ryoma’s skin had called the demon, also looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. The creatures of the dark were not fond of the sun, after all.

The human hummed, gold clashing with the bright blue. “About you.” He answered quietly, throat still sore and voice still sharp as glass as he spoke. “About death. That kind of stuff.”

Laughter was his answer. Amused laugher that reminded him of the sound that clear bells made on the seventh morning of the week, when the air was fresh and the metallic ding carried far over the empty lands around them. Ryoma turned his face away from the sky and looked at the creature that held his soul, so beautiful and graceful to him.

“Death. That’s something new.” Keigo breathed, that deep blue of his eyes once again eating Ryoma whole, “Maybe you are not as unworthy as I thought you to be. I wonder.”

A riddle for those of a sharp mind. A warning for the one whose life was trapped in a copper container.

…

The demon showed Ryoma the true sin, the sin that he was forced to carry even though it was not his. The village was sick, rotten to the very core and even deeper. Ryoma was but a child that has been fed with lies and then forced to take the place of others, a place that was not meant to be his.

“I don’t regret it, though. I met you.” The human says, golden eyes shining with challenge and a truth that rooted deep within the frail body. This was why humans were so interesting, so fun to stay with.

The demon blinked slowly, his hand pushing away brown hair from his face and then looked at the stars that shone so far away from them. “Foolish. Yet, refreshing. Interesting, truly.” He commented slowly, the amusement dancing on the tip of his tongue and a small, confident smirk on his lips.

Ryoma made a pout and turned away, standing up to be closer to the overwhelming black of the night and the soothing cold of the winds that clawed along his skin. He didn’t care about the small things, didn’t care what other’s thought. This was a good end to his pathetic life. “Still don’t regret anything.”

…

There were times that Keigo liked to trail his long, sharp nails across Ryoma’s face as he slept. The foreign, fleeting touched would make the human crawl out of the land of dreams and simply lay there, eyes closed and trying to understand that reasons behind those touches. It was a time of night that Ryoma both longer for and feared.

But the demon is careful not to leave marks, not to wake up and not to go too far.

_It is a taboo, even for us, the higher ones_ , he had told Ryoma one day, as they watched the girls whispering hopes to each other, casting fleeting glances up to the rooftop. _We don’t see humans as equals. They do not count as sexual partners_ , he added and turned his back to the girls, resting his eyes on the boy next to him.

Ryoma rested his head on his knees and hummed low again. _But you’re popular_ , he said after a moment, not entirely sure that he should have let those words leave past his lips. But there was a bitter taste in his mouth, something he couldn’t quite name nor understand. He did not want another sin to be placed on his shoulders.

So in these dark nights, when touches were given in secret and small whispers in a language that Ryoma did not understand were given, they become the only two in the world. There was a human and a demon. Both alone. Both different from the rest.

…

“You are too good for them.” Something like regret falls form Keigo’s lips as he sits on Ryoma’s bed and slides finger over the yellow pages of the bible the human had given him. The ancient Latin written in faded ink unraveled before him in prayers passed though time again and again. “Foolish humans. That’s all they are. Nothing more.”

Ryoma stands in front of the demon, his white robes handing loosely on his body, revealing more than hiding. There is surprise written on his face, hope slowly rising in his eyes as he looks on the demon and then eyes the bible. A holy book. A holy book of lies.

“But I can’t run, not from them. I am the sacrifice. Priest, no matter how laughable.” His eyes turn away from the demon, hands falling limply by his sides, the white robes now slowly sliding off his body.

He felt dirty. Unworthy.

Cold, cold hands force him to look up. Keigo is in front of him, the bible left on the ground and those blue eyes promising more than death and isolation that the world of the humans offered to Ryoma. “You are not, don’t think that.” The demon says, nails digging into Ryoma’s skin, “Mine. You are mine. They have no right to sacrifice you to anyone else.”

Ryoma laughs, a little broken and happy at the same time. The smile stays on his lips, a sign that he believed the demon’s words and would gladly follow the anger of darkness down the steps that lead into Hell. There was no place for him here. No reason to stay.

“I am yours.” The human finally breathes out. His white priest robes now lay on the floor, dyed red with his own blood from the many night before, when he sold his soul and heart away. He no longer belonged to the village, to the sin that he had inherited from his mother in the moment of his birth. Ryoma was free. He had more than his own name. “Take me. Please.”

And they seal yet another contract, one that needed no ink carved in Ryoma’s skin.

…

Ryoma holds the copper container before him. It’s empty now. There is no water inside of it; his heart and soul no longer were tied to it. It felt like letting go of shackles that had been tied around your arms and legs forcefully.

Freedom. Freedom that takes your breath away and air that does not feel like poison.

Keigo takes the container from Ryoma’s hands and smiles. His flames burned hot, melting the copper and turning it into dust. Destruction for the sake of salvation. A mark, a sign that Ryoma was now his and his alone.


End file.
